


The Unofficial Bookclub of Whitestone

by cordsycords



Series: Critical Role Relationships Week 2018 [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: CR Relationships Week 2018, Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordsycords/pseuds/cordsycords
Summary: Falling asleep is difficult, but good company and a decent book never go underappreciated.





	The Unofficial Bookclub of Whitestone

Whitestone Castle creeps him out.

It may be because he spends too much time wandering the halls at night, his crossbow stowed but fingers twitching, when all that’s there to guide him is a perfunctory candlelit lantern placed every few yards in the hallways. The stone for which is the castle is made from is even more haunting at night that it is during the day, as pale as bone and as lifeless too. Walking through them he can almost feel their history, the people who had lived here and died here one fateful evening.

He doesn’t often find himself going to the library or any other library for that matter. They are for people who can afford them, who hoard books and knowledge like dragons. But he knows that there’s a comfy place to sit there, and a large hearth to light a fire in, and perhaps it’ll make him feel less like he’s a trespasser in this ancient castle.

The doors to the library open with a low groan, echoing along the stone walls of the outside hallway. He flinches at the noise as he closes them behind him, looking around the room to see a faint glow of light on the opposite wall.

“Hello?” He calls out, “My lady, is that you?” He says, remembering his manners. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was Lady Cassandra, the young girl with the greying hair and the haunted eyes who sometimes looks to be more dead than alive.

“Not quite,” a voice calls back, low and lilting. Jarrett walks over to the sitting area to see Zahra, the tiefling woman, lying over the chaise with a pile of books on a footrest next to her. Her hair lies in a loose braid, falling over her shoulder and lying on a bright white silk robe that ties around her waist.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I thought no one would be here.”

She chuckles, “A wise assumption, truly. If only we weren’t both caught up in a bout of insomnia, perhaps we could have enjoyed the library in peace.”

“I apolo-”

“No need to, darling. Please, sit if you wish. Grab a book, there are many.”

He sits down in an armchair across from her, leaning his crossbow on its side. He stretches his legs out in front of him, placing his hands on his lap. The crackling of the fire and the occasional flipping of pages are the only sounds that pass between them. But he doesn’t like silence, especially in this place.

He opens his mouth to speak, but she beats him to it, “Why _are_ you here, Sir Howarth?”

“It’s just Jarett,” he corrects her automatically, shrugging his shoulders, “And this place seems to be the only place that provides any sense of… security anymore.”

Zahra hums in response, “I’d have to agree. There’s just something about the rest of the castle that’s-”

“Fucking creepy,” Jarett interrupts her.

“Yes, quite,” she chuckles under her breath.

“So you come here too? When you can’t sleep.”

“Lady Cassandra has very kindly given me the run of the place, and Percy recommended a few books to read. I’ve been making my way through them, and a few others of course.”

“Anything interesting?”

“There’s actually quite a wide range of subjects for such an isolated archive. The De Rolo lineage is surprisingly far-reaching, and goes back quite a number years, which means they’ve been collecting for years: History, engineering and architecture, linguistics, even a few books on the arcane arts,” she explained.

“Oh.”

“Are you much of a reader, Jarett?”

“Not of such informative subjects, no.”

“Oh, you’re looking for the fiction then? Back row, last shelf on the left, top four rows,” she points over in the direction the bookshelf is.

“Any suggestions?” He asks, going over and checking out the spines on the books. Several of them are in different languages, what he assumes is elvish and then something else completely alien to him.

“Hmm, third book in, bottom shelf, green binding I believe. I read that one a couple of weeks ago. It’s… well, it’s quite a tale. Give it a go.”

He picks the book she describes and brings it back to his chair. The green leather binding is embossed with the golden script of the title:

_The Downfall of Dragons_

He sighs, opening the book and beginning on the first page. He falls asleep several hours later, and the book falls to the floor. When he wakes up in the morning, he finds it on the arm of the chair he fell asleep in, bookmarked to his last page.

That night, he returns to the library. Zahra is not there. Instead, there is a pile of books sitting on her chaise, a note of parchment with his name sitting on top of them.


End file.
